The Young Student Trillionaire

Chapter 10

The clubhouse roared with life. Music blasted from every corner, drinks flowed like rivers, and laughter bounced off the glass walls. Rickon sat at the center of it all, legs sprawled and arms wide, as if the entire party existed solely for his amusement. He didn’t care much for the noise or the chaos—what mattered was that the ladies adored him. Every flirtatious glance, every giggle aimed his way fueled his already inflated ego. 

And Beauty, ever the drama queen, was livestreaming the entire event, pouting into her camera as she called him “Zaddy Rickon.”

Rickon grinned like a devil in velvet. This was his realm, his world, and the crowd fed off his presence like moths to a flame.

When he was buzzed enough to feel invincible, he clapped loudly, silencing the music for a moment. “Yo, Chance!” he called, his voice slurred slightly. “You bring anything for my girl, Chloe? Don’t tell me you showed up here empty-handed to just feed off her like the charity case you are.”

Chloe, standing close to the bar in her sequined silver dress, stiffened at the mention of her name. She didn’t appreciate being called “his girl” or the way he was speaking to Chance, but she had to admit—Rickon had paid for everything. The private clubhouse, the open bar, the decorations, even the over-the-top six-tier cake with her face printed on it. It wasn’t how she imagined celebrating her birthday, but it was... extravagant. Unforgettable. So she had to play the perfect hostess.

She looked at Chance, her expression hopeful yet guarded. Surely he'd not come empty-handed. He was too thoughtful for that. A gadget, maybe? A gift card? She knew Chance had never been flashy.

“Let’s see what Mr. Modest brought,” someone chuckled.

Vinita, leaning against the backrest with her wine glass tilted, smirked. “Well, Chance gave me the cheapest box of chocolates I've ever seen for my birthday—and we were dating then,” she said pointedly. “I wonder what a ‘just friend’ gets?”

The group erupted in laughter. Chloe winced.

Chance didn’t respond to their jeers. He walked over to her calmly, holding a sleek black gift bag with the signature gold “LV” seal embossed at the front. He offered it to her without flourish, just a quiet, “Happy birthday, Chloe.”

Chloe opened the bag and pulled out a stunning black purse—sleek, structured, and unfamiliar. It was beautiful, no doubt, but not something anyone had seen before. Murmurs started.

“What kind of LV is that?”

“Wait... is that real?”

Rickon narrowed his eyes. He didn't like that the buzz was shifting to Chance. He stood and sauntered over, reaching for the bag like a hawk circling prey. Chloe hesitated, but he snatched it from her hands with a mock-charming grin. “Mind if I take a closer look, princess?”

He turned it over, examined the stitching, the gold hardware, and the subtle pattern woven into the leather.

Then he stilled.

“This... this is the Louis Vuitton Black Widow,” Rickon announced. “It’s a one-of-a-kind design. Only one ever made. It was auctioned tonight at a private collector's event. A very private event—only twenty people were invited.”

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

Chance watched him with a quiet smile, hands folded behind his back. He didn’t have to say a word— Rickon was confirming the truth for him.

“Wait, wait,” someone said. “How do you know all that, Rickon?”

Rickon rolled his eyes. “Because my mother was at that auction. She was the one who almost got it. Lost the bid to some crazy billionaire who paid three million dollars for it.”

A stunned silence fell.

Everyone turned to Chance. He was suddenly the topic of the night. Girls were already plotting how to sidle up to him.

“You bought that?” Jessica asked, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s a $3 million bag.”

Rickon scoffed. “Please. Chance? Don’t make me laugh.”

But the murmurs had already begun.

“Did he steal it?”

“No way, he doesn't look like someone with that kind of money.”

“Maybe he’s like those secret billionaire characters on Meganovel... you know, hidden identity, fake poverty, all that jazz.”

Rickon paled.

He couldn’t let that narrative take root.

He laughed loudly, clapping his hands. “Y’all think he bought that bag? Come on now! You really think Chance is some mystery billionaire? Maybe next you’ll say he owns half the country and just ‘forgot’ to mention it!”

The crowd laughed nervously.

Rickon pressed on. “The bidding started at two hundred grand. Only people who had pre-approved bank guarantees could participate. My mom had to back out because the buyer went nuclear with the price. Three million. Three. Million. You think this guy has three million to spend on a purse?”

More laughter. This time, crueler.

Rickon’s grin sharpened. “He probably bought a replica. You can get high-grade copies from China for, like... a thousand bucks max. Heck, some of them even come with fake certificates and QR codes.”

The energy shifted.

Suddenly, the awe turned to suspicion.

“Wait, are you saying it’s fake?” one of the girls asked.

“Imagine that.” Rickon said smugly. “You guys know how we run things here—either the real deal or no deal at all.”

“Either the real deal or no deal at all!” The room echoed in drunken agreement.

Chloe’s brows furrowed. She looked at Chance, silently asking for confirmation.

He opened his mouth to speak, but Rickon cut in.

“Hopefully Julia Franklin becomes the next president; people like you—counterfeit supporters, fraud enablers—be sure, you'll be standing behind bars.”

Boos filled the room. Someone threw a napkin. A few girls hissed and muttered about wasted beauty. Chloe stepped forward, trying to salvage the moment, but it was too late.

Chance felt anger ripple through him. But he didn't let it show. He didn’t have to. He nodded slowly. “Happy birthday, Chloe,” he said softly. Then he turned and walked out.

The door closed behind him with a soft click that somehow sounded louder than the music that started up again.

Rickon raised his glass, grinning. “To real class.”

But Chloe didn’t smile. Her hands clutched the bag to her chest, her gaze fixed on the door Chance had just walked through.

Something about this didn’t sit right.

And somewhere deep in her gut, she knew the bag was real. Knew Chance had done something insane, something reckless—but not fake.

Never ever fake.